Too Much
by Ice Bear
Summary: A long work week, a bad case and a little hurtcomfort.


Blair had stopped grading papers an hour ago. All he really wanted to do was sleep, but he hadn't seen his roommate for more than 15 minutes at any one time over the last four days, and he was beginning to worry. He huffed tiredly, and decided to wait 30 more minutes before giving up and going to bed.

Just before 11 pm, he heard a key in the lock. He straightened up on the couch, and aimed a smile at the door. It faltered as soon as he caught sight of the ashen face of his partner. "Jim?"

The big man lifted his head slightly, his weary eyes desperately trying to find the source of the voice. Then he doubled over and stumbled toward the bathroom. Blair followed, kneeling beside the toilet, one hand on the heaving back. There was only bile, making it clear the man had not eaten recently. He could feel the contractions flow through the muscular body underneath his hand as the back arched again and again and again. He began whispering soft words of reassurance, knowing there was nothing else he could offer at that point.

The empty retching went on for close to an hour. It was unclear why Jim didn't just pass out. There was nothing left to come up, not even bile, and Blair was seriously considering dialing 911. Jim no longer even made any noise, just the silent convulsions as his body was caught in a seemingly endless cycle of pain. He had made up his mind to call for an ambulance, when the head wearily came out of the toilet to rest heavily on the side, eyes closed. Blair ran a soft, cold washcloth over the face and around the back of the neck, before leaving to fetch a quilt and the phone. He draped the quilt over the still body, and gently lowered it to rest on his lap.

"Jim, can you hear me?" He whispered. "You with me, big guy?"

There was no response, just the continued panting which Blair felt more than heard. He ran his hand lightly through the close cropped hair in an abstract pattern. The other hand drew meandering circles across the broad back. "Oh man, how did it get this bad, Jim?"

The phone rang startling him, and he fumbled for a moment trying to find where he'd left it. "Yeah."

"Sanburg, I need to talk with Jim."

"No can do."

"Sanburg don't play with me tonight."

"He's essentially unconscious right now."

"Is he alright?"

"No, he's not alright! Jesus, Simon, he had the dry heaves for close to an hour, and he's, I don't even know what he is right now, but he's so far from alright." The hand not clasping the phone continued its gentle journey through the short, soft hair.

"I need him at the station first thing tomorrow."

"What part of the English language don't you understand?" Blair yelled, "He's beyond done in. Hell, if he doesn't show some sign of consciousness soon, I'm calling an ambulance."

"Have him call me when he is able, Sanburg," Simon ended just before Blair switched the phone off.

"God damn it! Why is that despite having an entire station full of cops, they always want you? I mean, I know you're the best, man, but they need to start relying on somebody else every now and then. I just wish they would learn to lay off before you end up unconscious on the floor. This is so not good, Jim. And you're really starting to freak me out.Do you think you could say something so I'd know you're still in there? Hell, I'd even be up for a lecture regarding House Rule 97 on sleeping inthe bathroom floor about now."

Ten minutes later, Blair tried again. "Please Jim, you're really scaring me. I know you don't want to go to the hospital, but you're not leaving me any options here. Just open those baby blues and talk to me. Doesn't even have to be complete sentence. I'd settle for 'yup' or 'nope'. Come on, big guy, I don't know what to do."

Whether it was the worry in his Guide's voice or his increased heart beat, something pulled at Jim and forced him to open his eyes. They remained unfocused, but he felt the droop of relief in the body serving as his pillow, so he knew it had been the right move.

"That's it, Jim. Everything's okay. Just you and I spending some quality time on the bathroom floor. Can you hear me, Jim?"

"Ch…Chief?" It was said so softly that had he not been waiting for it, hadn't seen the mouth move, he would have missed it.

"Right here. Do you think you can sit up? I'd like to get you off this cold floor."

The eyes closed, and it was several minutes before Blair felt the body gather itself to move. He wrapped his own arms around his Sentinel and assisted him in sitting up, making sure he would be leaning against his chest once he was upright. "I got you, Jim. It's okay. You're doing great."

"Water, please."

"Here, let me help you." Blair held a glass and tipped it slowly. "Not too much, not yet. Let's wait a few minutes."

Jim lifted his head, and the weary blue eyes semi-focused on the face in front of him. "Thanks, Chief."

A warm smile slide into place. "You're welcome, Jim. Just returning the favor. You think you could stand up. Couch would be more comfortable."

"Bed?"

"Sorry, big guy, but I don't think we'd make it up the stairs. Let's start with the couch."

The blue eyes closed, and the head dropped for a moment. "'kay."

They stood awkwardly as Blair sought to maintain their balance. He held Jim to him in a gentle embrace for a long moment once they were both upright, before moving to slip an arm under a shoulder. "Okay, Mr. ex-Army Ranger, just consider this a forced march to the couch. I'll steer, you just try to stay upright."

It took several minutes to make their way to the couch, and Blair had to resist the urge to let go of his heavy burden once they made their goal, but he knew Jim would simply collapse if he did. He eased the bigger man down to a sitting position, unbuttoned his shirt, and slipped it off before helping him lift up his legs. He removed his shoes, and covered him with a soft blanket off the back of the couch.

He sat on the coffee table, and put a hand on Jim's shoulder. "Big guy, before you drift off on me, can you tell me what's wrong?" It was asked in his Guide voice.

Jim had shifted onto his side, facing his friend. His eyes remained closed and the lines of pain on his face seemed to intensify as he began to speak. "Finally headed home about 7. Call came on a hostage situation, shots fired. I was pretty close and one of the first on the scene. Family of five slaughtered by a 15 year old crack head with a semi-automatic. Kid was still in the house, high as a kite, and shooting at anything that moved.

"I could hear that everyone else inside was gone – only one heartbeat - but the SWAT captain didn't want to wait the kid out. And it's not like I could explain to him why we had nothing but time. So I explained how the kid would have more then enough time to kill anyone left alive before we made the house, but he had no interest in even trying to talk to the kid – it might not have worked, but it was worth a shot.

"I knew someone else was going to die – no cover of any kind on the front or back approach – none. I tried to talk the captain out of rushing the house, but he pushed me away after asking why I was so worried about a semi-automatic wielding druggie when there were people in need of medical attention in the house. It wasn't like I could just explain, and he didn't want to listen to reason."

Jim had succeeded in drawing his long frame into as small a ball as possible while talking, and Blair was frozen in place, the pain in his Sentinel's voice passing through him as he listened.

"They stormed the place – 15 SWAT guys– three of them went down before they took out the kid…it was such a waste, Chief. The family – four small children all shot six and seven times in their beds. The blood was everywhere – the walls, the floor, the fucking ceiling! I had to take the father into the house; he worked the 2nd shift at the docks and got home just after…that SWAT son of a bitch insisted the man identify his family at the scene.

"The perp – he didn't have to die. And those SWAT guys, two of them will be okay, but the third is critical. And I could have prevented it – some of it – but I didn't. Oh God, I didn't." And the curled up body began to shake as silent sobs ripped through it.

"Oh, Jim. Don't. Don't do this to yourself. Please don't. You did everything you could. That's all anyone can ask. Please." Blair pleaded as he moved to his knees and took the shuddering body in his arms. "You don't deserve this, Jim. It isn't your fault. Please don't." Part of his brain was registering that even in pain, Jim didn't make a sound. He could feel the hot tears and shuddering, but no sob or whimper escaped the tense body. Something else he figured he'd add to the list of reasons why he wanted to strangle Ellison, Sr. – the man had made sure his child couldn't even grieve.

"Sorry, go to bed…didn't think you'd still be up." Jim's voice shook. "Need your sleep."

"No. I need to know you're okay. Just stretch out a little. That's it. Good." Blair moved onto the couch, resettled the blankets, and took his partner in his arms. He placed a chaste kiss on the forehead, and softly urged him toward sleep.

It was just after 7 a.m. when Blair woke. It took him a long moment to remember why he was in the living room. He moved carefully in order to not wake his still sleeping partner, and headed for the bathroom. He took a quick shower and put on some coffee before getting dressed. When he returned to the couch, he found weary blue eyes watching him.

"Hey!"

"Thank you, Blair."

"Don't thank me til you get my bill," Blair said through a soft smile. "You feel up to a shower?"

"Would be good."

"Well, being a kind hearted roommate, I left you some hot water. While you're in the shower, I'll make breakfast."

The head on the couch, dropped down to examine the quilt in closer detail. "Not sure I'm hungry."

"Do you even remember the last time you ate?" Blair got a shake of the head as an answer.

"You'll feel better – come on now, go shower."

Jim sat slumped at the kitchen table, as though his body was simply too heavy to hold up. Blair put some toast on the table alongside a small portion of scrambled eggs, and tried to control his expression. It looked like Jim had aged 20 years overnight. He had never though of his partner as old, but at that moment he looked ancient. He laid a gentle squeeze on one of the broad shoulders, and took his own seat. He kept up a chatty, one sided conversation of inane issues, trying to insert some normalcy.

The phone rang and Jim rose wearily to answer it. "Ellison."

"Jim? It's Simon, I need you down here."

"Give me forty minutes."

"Jim, you okay?"

"I'll see you in 40, Captain."

"You can't." Blair blurted out as soon as the conversation ended.

"I have to." And Jim moved to the stairs leading to his bedroom.

When he came down, Blair was waiting in front of the door, hand outstretched.

"What?"

"I'm driving. Give me the keys."

"Look…" Jim was so tired he couldn't get his mind to complete the sentence.

"Jesus, Jim, you can't even see me! How the hell do you think you're going to drive across town in rush hour traffic? Give me the keys." It was easier to hand them over then to argue so he did, and he followed his partner to the truck, using him as a marker for the trail because his eye sight was fading in and out like a strobe light.

Once in the truck, Blair turned to him, "Dial everything down – 2 should work– we'll bring up what you need when we get to the station."

When they entered the bullpen, Jim went up to the Captain's secretary and asked that she let him know he had arrived, since the door was closed. He then folded into his chair and picked up the folder on top of the inbox. "Okay, let's dial up sight – put it at 4 - and hearing too. Leave everything else turned down. You don't need it here." Blair whispered as he bent over to grab a case file.

He was summed to the Captain's office five minutes later, and found himself facing not only Simon but the SWAT captain, Dillingham. He nodded formerly to both, and took a seat at the conference table. Simon was taken aback at his detective's appearance. Jim was too pale and, just as Blair had observed at breakfast, he seemed to have aged overnight. But with a stranger in the office, he couldn't question his friend.

"Captain Dillingham is unhappy with your conduct at the shooting. He feels you were unduly concerned with the fate of the shooter."

Jim raised his head so he was looking directly at his Captain. "I thought there was a chance to bring him in alive. I shared that idea with the officer in charge of the scene. He disagreed, and I relented. I apologize, Captain Dillingham, if I came on to strong." The tone hit Banks' hard. It sounded as though Ellison barely had the energy to get out the words. So unlike the confident man who worked for him.

"I just want to know why, Detective, you were more worried about the perp then the victims." Dillingham was clearly looking for blood.

"Given the way the perp was shooting anything that moved, it was my belief that the victims were already dead." Jim looked directly at Simon, and Banks nodded his head in understanding. Jim had known they were gone, but couldn't tell anyone. "And if they weren't, he'd have plenty of time to finish the job before we rushed the house."

"That's a pretty big leap there, Detective. Did you really think I was going to sit there, and wait out that strung out killer while those children bled to death?" The challenge in the question was clear.

"Captain, I was the first senior officer on the scene. I gave you the best read I had. You chose to go another way. I did not interfere with your efforts, and I have apologized. What else is it you want from me?"

"I want to know why such a screw up is running around with the Cop of the Year title! I want to know why your Captain molly coddles you to the point that you are more concerned withthe welfare of a stone killer then his victims! Tell me, Ellison." Dillingham was yelling so loud he could be heard in the bullpen. Joel Taggart had to stop Blair from charging the Captain's office.

"I didn't believe it was necessary for anyone else to die last night." Jim offered as his defense.

Simon's fist hit the conference table. Normally his senior detective was more than capable of defending himself, but today he clearly needed backup. And Banks was more than a little pissed off that the SWAT twerp thought he could get away with talking about one of his men this way. "Dillingham," his voice rang out hard, its authority clear, "Jim Ellison is a highly decorated police detective and has the highest solve rate of any officer in this city, in the county and in the state. He was also an Army Ranger, and saw more combat by the time he was 28 then you will see if you live to be a hundred. He does his duty and then some every single day, rain or shine, sleet or snow – hell he's more reliable then the mailman and he works Sundays and holidays to boot. And I'd take Jim Ellison over your entire SWAT team when the going gets tough.

"Now, he has explained himself, and answered your questions. He also apologized, although for what escapes me. This discussion is over."

"Maybe having to show the father his dead kids will remind Ellison that perps aren't to be treated like human beings." Dillingham shot snidely as he rose from his chair.

Simon lunged for him and grabbed him around the throat. "You son of a bitch," he yelled. "The coroner verified that everyone was dead before the 911 call came in. And if they hadn't been, they certainly would have been by the time your team was able to storm the house. Ellison was right, and you were wrong. How you going to explain that to the wives of your three men? I hope it was worth it to you. Now get the hell out of my office."

Dillingham slunk out of the office to be met with various expressions of hate and distrust from the Major Crimes bullpen. He retreated quickly.

Simon closed the office door and took a seat next to his friend. "Jim, you okay?"

"He was willing to risk his men to get a kid who was headed for life in prison anyway. I understand why he wanted to take him down – because he didn't know for certain that the victims were dead. But he was so focused on it. And he never stopped to think about what the kid would do to anyone left alive in that house. He had a total disregard for the lives of every cop at the scene. I just wish…" the soft voice just quit, and Jim put his head in his arms on the table.

Simon punched his intercom and asked for Sanburg before returning his attention to his detective. "Jim, you were right. Even without your hearing, it was a damn good bet that no one lived through his initial rampage, and you and I both know that they wouldn't have made it through SWAT storming the house. Most of the officers at the scene agreed with you. And even if that idiot knew about your abilities, I don't think it would have changed what he did…and I'm sorrier then I can say that he made you go into that house."

Blair had taken up residence beside his friend, and was running a comforting hand across his shoulder blades. "Jim, Simon's right. Why don't you come with me to the U. I have some more papers to grade, and you've noted before that my office couch is pretty comfy." He exchanged a long look with Banks, and both nodded in silent agreement. "Come on, Jim, let's go."

Simon helped get the detective to his feet. Once there he seemed to regain some semblance of control, and headed for the door. "Blair, is he…"

"He's been pushed beyond his limits mentally and physically, and emotionally he's a mess. His senses are – hell Simon I don't even know what they are right now, and he's hurting."

"Take him home, let me know if you need anything. And Sanburg, don't bring him back til he's ready. I'll give you as long as it takes – he's worth the wait."

"Thanks, Simon." Blair reached out, and hugged the bigger man quickly, a smile darting across his face as he stepped back and headed after his partner.

"Sanburg!" Simon bellowed as he disappeared out the door. "Take good care of our friend," he finished Sentinel soft.

The rest of the bullpen held back, their concern evident on their faces, as Blair caught up with Jim and slipped under his shoulder to help keep him upright. He acknowledge them with his eyes, but never slowed in his effort to get his partner out of the building.

They went to the U, and Blair settled Jim on his couch. He woke him for half a sandwich about 1 pm, and left him to sleep while he taught two classes. He thought his partner looked a little more human when he woke him at 4:30 pm to head back to the loft.

He ordered take out, and they ate it silently. After cleaning up, he made his way up to Jim's bedroom, where he found the older man laying on top of the covers. "Jim, do you need to talk some more?" He crawled uninvited onto the bed and lay close enough to be within easy reach.

"What's the point?"

"The point?"

"What's the point of 'protect and serve' if some of your fellow officers are just as blood thirsty as the perps? Dillingham is no better then the trash we put in jail."

"Jim…"

"Hell I saw what that kid did. I knew how bad it was from the smell alone. And it wasn't my regard for the perp that made me recommend we wait him out. I knew he would have killed anybody left alive in the house, along with the cops storming the house. I just didn't think it was worth the risk. Maybe I was wrong, and maybe if I didn't have these senses, I would have done what Dillingham did."

"No!" Blair yelled, startling them both. "You would never put anyone in harm's way if there was another way to get the job done. It just isn't you. You…you always try everything else first before resorting to force when you have an option. Come on, man, I've watched you. You try to bring everybody home, including the perps - even if home is a holding cell - in one piece. It's the kind of man you are. That SWAT creep – he needs a serious attitude adjustment."

The ringing phone cut Blair off, and they lay silently while the machine picked up the call. "Jim, its Matt Dawson. Look, about last night, I understand Dillingham read you the riot act. I hope you didn't listen to a word the idiot said. If he'd listened to you, three of my friends wouldn't be at Mercy right now. Our negotiator was beside himself with Dillingham's call. And every cop I talked with agreed with you – the fact is I hear IA is looking at the decision not to negotiate.

I'm sorry he's giving you a hard time, and I just wanted you to know that we all would have been better off if you'd remained senior officer on scene. Donuts on me next time Jimbo!"

Blair picked up right where he left off. "Jim you are a good cop and a good man. Dillingham doesn't even belong on the same planet with you, let alone the same police force. You did everything you could to make it come out right, but the final decision, this time, was out of your hands."

"Since when did you become President of the Jim Ellison fan club?" Blair saw a glimpse of the man he knew in the blue eyes and shadow of a smile that flitted across the handsome face.

"Moi? I'll have you know that not only am I the founding member, I happened to be the sole member of said club." Blair's brilliant smile eased something in the older man's heart.

"Think you could take a few days, maybe go fishing with your idol? I understand that being club president is supposed to come with certain fringe benefits." Jim reached a hand out to grab Blair's.

"Cool. You think I could get my picture taken with you?" Blair laughed at the look on Jim's face.

"For you, Chief, anything." Jim solemnly responded before reaching over to cuff his best friend.


End file.
